


around in circles we go

by acariad



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acariad/pseuds/acariad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen is tasked with looking after the mage until she reaches Ostagar with the Grey Warden. What he expected was a short trip, and then home. What he never expected was to be swept up in the affairs and battles of the Wardens, the Circle only a distant memory. Between the Blight and a mage whose every glance sends his heart pounding, can our templar hope to find something that he had never dared dream of?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> BASED OFF THE DAKINKMEME PROMPT: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10371.html?thread=44174723
> 
>  
> 
> _"Even though Amell was recruited by Duncan, she is still Greagoir's responsibility until she actually undergoes the joining. He's halfway convinced that she'll start slitting her wrists and dancing naked under the moonlight the second she's out from templar supervision. So he sends Cullen along to keep an eye on Amell until she's officially 100% Duncan's problem. Of course, everything goes to hell at Ostagar, and Cullen can't get back to the tower right away. He travels with Amell and companions. Two choices: 1) This freedom allows Amell and Cullen to get together, 2) Cullen watches hopelessly as Amell falls in love with someone else."_
> 
> * * *

\---

 

He coughed, heaving and rasping coughs that made his lungs rattle and ache. Through the smoke, he could barely make out the slender robe clad figure backing away slowly from the ogre. He could almost imagine the fear in her eyes – the same look that she wore, perhaps, the night of her harrowing? He had wanted to reach out then, and ease her fright, but of course that was impossible. And even now, without the confinements of the Tower surrounding them, he was still helpless.

He needed to help. He glanced blearily around for his sword, and saw it a few metres to his left. Groaning, he slowly stretched out his arm as far as he could to the handle, but stopped immediately as he nearly blacked out from the pain. _Shattered ribs_ , the thought crossed his mind dimly. His vision was becoming darker now, and he helplessly watched as Amell desperately fired a huge blast of ice towards the ogre. For once, something seemed to work, and the lumbering creature stopped in its tracks, its huge clawed feet encased in solid ice. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Alistair, sword gleaming in his hand, leaping up and plunging his weapon straight into the base of the ogre’s neck. An unearthly screech erupted from the creature as blood cascaded down from the now gaping wound, but he could see more darkspawn spilling through the door.

 _We’re going to die here_ , he realised as he watched the other man tackle the swarm head on.

His vision blurred and darkened, and through the foggy blackness he heard a voice yelling his name. He tried to push himself up, tried to reply, but his head felt like lead, sinking in water. As he blacked out Cullen’s only thought was on the mage on the other side of the room rushing towards him, her eyes gleaming in the firelight, so bright...

 

\---

 

 


	2. Before

\---

 

“Knight Commander, I’m not sure I understand what you’re – ”

Greagoir sighed and held up a hand. Cullen immediately ceased talking and stood still, feeling like a small child. He watched silently as Greagoir rubbed his temple slowly his shoulder carrying only a hint of weariness that he must be feeling as he leant against the desk in front of him. 

“Cullen, enough. You understand perfectly well that the _mage_ could be dangerous – no, let me rephrase – _very_ dangerous. Regardless of what that _Grey Warden_ has said I will not let her simply march out of here unwatched.” The venom that the Knight Commander stated the words ‘Grey Warden’ said much about his views of the whole affair which occurred less than an hour ago. Cullen can understand his paranoia. It’s not every day that a mage somehow managed to destroy their phylactery, let alone escaping the tower. And, as luck would have it, his accomplice was Solona Amell. Not surprising, since the two mages were thick as thieves, but still… Cullen liked to think he knew Amell rather well. They had talked on occasion, and she had always been rather shy and reserved. If he hadn’t been there to witness her walking out the basement with the blood mage and the chantry sister, he never would've believed anyone if they had told him what happened. Regardless, he could never believe that she was a blood mage. She had practically thrown herself down onto the ground after they woken from the attack, and stated that she accepted any punishment that they saw fit. It was only thanks to the impeccable timing of the Grey Warden that she had been spared. 

“So,” the Knight Commander continued, breaking through his train of thought, “You understand the necessity for a guard. Someone to watch her and make sure _nothing happens_ until they’re at Ostagar - until she is a part of that order and therefore no longer our problem after that.”

Cullen looked at the older man in front of him uncertainly. Before, he couldn’t understand, but now the reason seemed clear as day. Surely this couldn’t be another test for him. The harrowing was bad enough, and he still feels uneasy remembering how sweaty his hands were as they clutched the handle of the broadsword hovering so close to her neck. 

“Ser, it’s not that I doubt your decision, but…” Cullen hesitated, looking at the ground. “Perhaps a more experienced templar? I don’t understand why me. Surely there are others far more capable and suited to this task…”

Greagoir peered at him from behind the wide desk. The pause that followed seemed to stretch on for eons. Finally the Knight Commander placed his hands on the table in front of him, and looked at Cullen straight in the eyes.

“You have been at the tower for as long as she has, Cullen. You’re one of the few recruits who has spoken to this mage, and you know her better than most.” The words weren’t said, but the implications were there, hidden beneath the placid tone and the slight downwards turn of Greagoir’s mouth. Cullen felt his palms begin to itch again.

“Based on your history of… interactions, you are the most capable out of the others to predict her actions and make sure she behaves. And I believe the mage if friendly towards you, yes?”

Cullen swallows and nods stiffly. Greagoir made a noise half way between satisfaction and annoyance.

“You are therefore assigned to mage Solona Amell until her rites announce her as a formal Grey Warden. You are to act as her guard and protector, and make sure the mage causes no harm to anyone else or herself. If she practices blood magic, you are to strike her down without mercy. Do you understand the task given to you?”

Another stiff nod.

 _A lake_. Cullen thought as he schooled his features into blankness _. I must be as calm and serene as a lake._

“Take this.” A sealed scroll was held out to him, which Cullen accepted with a small bow. “It will inform anyone of your duties while on the road, should you encounter any trouble.”

Cullen nodded and tucked the scroll away into his breastplate. Safer to nod than to speak. He looked up to see Greagoir looking at him with a curious expression on his face. It was gone as soon as he spied it however, and the older man flapped his hand at the door in a gesture of dismissal.

“Go on, quickly, be gone with that mage. And return as soon as you can, do not forget your duties.”

Cullen bowed again, this time deeper and moved quickly out the door. Greagoir watched the young man disappear around the bend, and heaved a sigh.  

“Good luck, Cullen. May the Maker protect you on your trip.”

 

\---

 

It didn't take him very long to gather a few belongings and necessary items for the trip. Five vials of lyrium went into the pack, the box wrapped carefully in fabric. As long as he was cautious, they will last him for well over a month, and surely the trip would take far less than that. A few scrolls, a pouch of coins, and a small carved wooden amulet. Satisfied that he had everything he would need, Cullen picked up the pack and slung it over his shoulders, and made his way swiftly down the flights of stairs towards the entrance of the tower.

He felt… what was it that he felt? Cullen wasn't sure. Excitement perhaps? After all, it had been many months since he was outside of the confines of the tower, and Maker knows how many years since he had seen any part of Ferelden beyond Lake Calenhad. And of course, then there was Amell…

Cullen felt his face flush at the thought of the mage. It was silly, this crush he had been nursing, but now it seems that at least he will spend some time with her before she becomes a Warden.

He finally found himself on the lower floor and made his way quickly to the entrance. He pushed the door open quietly and spied Amell sitting on the ground. Her staff was lying next to her and her head buried in her arms, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her flame red hair fell in a curtain around her, hiding her features from view. Cullen could feel a lump in his throat as he looked down at her. Grief radiated from her still form, and Cullen held himself in check. No matter how much he wanted to comfort her, they were still in the tower.  A small cough drew his eyes to the Grey Warden standing a few metres away – _Duncan, was it?_ – who beckoned him over.

“You must be the recruit that will accompanying us, is that correct?” The older man’s tone was pleasant as Cullen approached him, and he seemed to accept this turn of events. No doubt the Knight Commander had sent someone to detain the two from leaving while they were having their talk. Cullen nodded and couldn't help but glance over at Amell’s still form again. Duncan’s gaze followed his, and he shook his head sadly.

“She is still somewhat in shock I believe,” Duncan said softly. “I had hoped to recruit her under different circumstances, but it seems either way, she is still reluctant to leave the tower. But since you’re here now, we leave at once. Would you be kind enough to tell her so? I’m sure a familiar face will be a comfort on the long journey ahead.” With that Duncan turned to the guards at the door. Cullen moved slowly over to Amell, and knelt down beside her.

"M-Mage Amell?" he asked, silently cursing his own stutter. It only appeared whenever he spoke to her, and he could never seem to make himself stop. He placed a gauntlet clad hand on her shoulder, and shook her gently. Slowly, the mass of hair moved and slid off her shoulders as she raised her face from her arms. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw him kneeling beside her. 

“Cullen?” Amell’s confused voice rang out in the small space of the entrance. “What are you doing here?”

Cullen gave her a tiny smile. "I'm here to accompany you until you become a full Grey Warden," he said gently, and offered her a hand. She gazed at him, confusion still apparent on her face, but took the offered hand anyway. He drew her up and moved away from her quickly, not wanting to draw more suspicion by lingering near her. He ducked down and handed her staff back to her, and nodded to Duncan who was waiting by the now opened doors. The cold night air blew in gusts through the archway, and he watched Amell shiver slightly in her thin robes. Mages didn't have anything thicker to wear since the Tower was warded against the cold, and Cullen felt guilty for his many layers under his armour which protected him from the chill. 

He stood back and watched as Amell squared her shoulders, apprehension still written in every inch of her face, and moved slowly towards the doors. Duncan had already moved outside, and was waiting patiently for the two of them. Amell stopped near the line which marked the end of the Tower, and looked back at him. Her bright green eyes were filled with a million questions and doubts, and Cullen could do nothing but give her an encouraging look. _Go on_ , he thought. As if sensing his thoughts, Amell gave him a small smile, took a deep breath, and stepped over the entrance. 

 

\---

 

 


	3. Ostagar

The journey to Ostagar took them nearly a week, and most of it was spent in silence. There was very little chatter among the three companions. While Duncan was kind enough to answer any questions he had, Cullen couldn't help but think that the older man had a lot on his mind, and so he kept quiet most of the time. Amell had barely said anything at all since they left the Tower, and most nights Cullen found her sitting by herself, staring up at the moon with a lost expression on her face. As much as he wished to talk to her,  to be closer to her before he had to leave her to her Grey Warden life, he couldn't bear to interrupt her moments of solace. 

The last time she had been outside the Tower would've been when she was brought in – surely something close to twelve years by now. It was apparent in the first few days that she was taking this chance to stare and commit everything she could to memory. Cullen had thought he saw her once ducking to pick up a pebble on the road. To be in that position, where a pebble seemed new and foreign... Cullen couldn't even begin to imagine. Sure, he was stuck in the Tower all the same, but they had privileges and could go outside whenever they wanted - just not beyond the island unless they had been ordered to.   

But he could see that slowly, the wonder of seeing what lay beyond the stone walls of the Tower faded for her. They were not travelling on the main roads, and there were barely any inns around. The roads were rough and the nights were cold regardless of how well pitched the tents were.  Regardless of this pace, Duncan was determined to press on South as fast as they could. They set up camp at the last light and rose at dawn. Even Cullen’s templar training couldn't prevent the strain he was starting to feel. It had been so long since he went on a patrol for this long. Still, it could be worse, he reasoned to himself as he glanced at the mage moving slowly behind him. 

Every step she took made her wince, and it was clear from the way she was leaning on her staff for support that her feet must be covered in blisters. Slippers were hardly enough to keep her feet from scraping on the road, and she was not used to this sort of travel. 

 _We should've gotten her boots,_ Cullen thought glumly, cursing himself for not considering the length of the journey. At least he had managed to find a cloak for her at the only inn they stopped by. It hadn't cost much, and the material was hardly good quality, but he hoped it kept the worst of the cold off at nights. The edges of her robes were already showing wear and tear, and it wasn't the first time that Cullen thought that she was literally dressed the worst possible way for such a journey. _  
_

"Not long now," Duncan's voice called back towards then, cutting through his thoughts, and Cullen sighed in relief as he realised their meaning. They were almost there, and he couldn't wait to get a few decent nights' rest before he had to head back to the Tower. And as Duncan predicted, it wasn't long before the peaks of Ostagar could be seen over the tree tops, flags flying from the top most towers.  Despite its battered appearance, the fortress was still breathtaking in its size and grandeur.

Even Amell gave a sigh of relief when she spied the structure, and a small smile crossed her face. She needs to smile more, Cullen thought as his gaze lingered on her face. Perhaps, out of the Tower, she might. Her gaze flickered from the fluttering flags, resting on him. Cullen tentatively smiled at her, and to his delight, she returned the smile, albeit rather shyly.

“Here we are,” Duncan finally exclaimed as they neared the huge doors leading inside Ostagar. “Now I must leave you both soon as I have to meet with a few commanders. However, feel free to investigate the camp. I’m sure some familiar faces can be found at the mages encampment.” Here Duncan gave a kind smile to Amell, who seemed happy at the prospect of seeming other mages from the Circle.

“I’m sure you will guard her well, Templar Cullen. I will send word to pitch a temporary camp for you to stay in until you are ready to leave. You can return to the Circle once Amell’s joining ritual is complete.”

“Um, would I be able to get a bath?” Amell asked quietly, ducking her head towards the ground. Cullen almost started – it had been a while since he heard her speak.

"You will be able to have a bath once we arrive at camp," Duncan informed her with a small chuckle. "I'm sorry to have pushed you so hard, but speed was of the essence. It seems we have arrived on time."

“Ho there! Duncan!” a voice called out as the gates opened. The three companions turned their gaze towards a man clad in shining golden armour, sauntering towards them with a small troop of soldiers behind him. Everything about him seemed to yell importance, from his golden hair to the golden sword at his belt.

"King Cailan. I wasn't expecting-" Duncan started, but the King quickly cut him off mid-sentence as he broke away from the group and embraced the Grey Warden enthusiastically.

“ – A royal welcome? I feared you were going to miss all the fun!” The king finished, humour laced in his voice and an impish grin on his face.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, your majesty,” Duncan replied as the king released him.

Cullen blinked. King Cailan? It was hard to believe that this man was the ruler of Ferelden for the past five years. In his head, Cullen had always imagined Ferelden's king to be like Greagoir - steadfast and stern. This man before him... seemed far too eager and young to be king.

"Either way, you missed some already. Darkspawn charged the gate last night, but it was hardly a battle. An easy victory for us at any rate. They fought like wild animals! You would think these beasts would be more of a challenge, but that wasn't the case. " 

"Disappointed, your Majesty?" Duncan asked lightly, his voice betraying nothing.

"I was hoping this may be a Blight. Like the ones the bards sing of. But this will have to do," the King shrugged his massive amour clad shoulders. The man turned and looked at the other two standing before him. Cullen felt Amell shrink and move behind his frame, effectively blocking her from view. 

"And this must be the new recruit Duncan was talking about," King Cailan stated to them with the same broad grin he had before. Cullen felt confused. Was the king talking about him?

"A templar huh? Wonderful! I'm sure you'll make a great addition to the Wardens!"

"You're mistaken, your majesty" Cullen bowed quickly, his face flushing. "I'm... not the new recruit." 

"Oh?" An eyebrow was raised.

"She is."

Cullen moved aside and guided Amell towards the front, who was clutching her staff as if her life depended on it. She stopped in front of King Cailan, looking very much like a startled deer. She gave a clumsy bow, and muttered a soft 'your majesty'' to the man in front of her. Cullen could see the King was baffled by this change of events. A small girl was the recruit, instead of the templar? To his credit though, the King recovered remarkably quickly and graced the mage with a cheerful smile. 

"I apologise for the mistake, my lady. I got carried away. I'm sure you will be a fine Grey Warden," King Cailan stated brightly. Amell's cheeks coloured as she ducked her head and bowed again, mumbling a thank you towards the King.  The King nodded his head towards them, and turned back to Duncan.

"Well, I must be off!" he declared, gesturing for his soldiers to move out. "Loghain has asked me to rally the troops. Farewell until we meet again!" 

With that, the golden King turned and took his leave, the soldiers falling in behind him. Duncan sighed and turned back to Cullen and Amell. 

"So, what do you make of him?" he asked, gesturing towards the departing form. 

"He seemed nice," Amell stated softly. Cullen on the other hand, felt a little put off. The fate of Ferelden rested in the hands of a man who acted like a childish boy? 

"Who in the Maker's name would wish for a Blight?" Cullen asked with a small frown.

"Try not to judge him too harshly," Duncan sighed. "While I agree with you, it can be a difficult position to be in, being King. His father Maric was a great man and a good king."

"What if he's right," Amell suggested, "Maybe this isn't a Blight?"

"For all our sakes I hope he is." Duncan gestured for them to follow. "Regardless, we have much to prepare for. If the Darkspawn have already been attacking, then we mustn't waste any more time. I will be in the centre of the camp. When you are ready to begin join me there. If you cannot find me, ask for the Grey Warden Alistair. He will be in charge of your recruitment process."

Cullen couldn't shake the feeling that the process would be more than paperwork, but he had very little idea as to what it might actually entail. Unfortunately, it was one of the things that Duncan had been less than forthcoming about, so he decided to keep the questions to himself.

 _Maybe I'll ask Amell after_ , he thought as he set off down towards the base camp, trailing behind a silent mage who was clutching her staff like a lifeline.


	4. Goodbye

The bridge spamming the gap above the huge valley below them was just as magnificent as the fortress seemed from the outside. Guards were stations every dozen of metres or so along the edge, and seeing this reassured Cullen that this place was well guarded.

The two companions made their way slowly along the bridge, Cullen trailing a few feet behind the silent mage. He was glad of their pace – the faster they walked, the less time it meant that they had together. Although… Cullen sighed internally. Despite travelling together for nearly a week he had barely managed to utter three entire sentences to her the entire journey. There were few chances for them to be alone, and now was one of them. Surely he should say something to break the ice?

“A-are you okay?” he heard his stammering voice ask. Amell, who had been seemingly lost in her own thoughts, started at the sound and turned, gazing at him with wide eyes. He noted that she had never been this jumpy before in the Tower. Maybe it’s the amount of guards around them, or perhaps it was the ordeal with the blood mage and that chantry sister. Or perhaps she just wasn't used to being outside yet. Either way, she slowly seemed to relax, enough to give him a small smile.

"I'm fine, Cullen," she replied softly. "I... thank you for asking."

 Silence fell between them again, and Cullen cursed is inability to make small talk with the mage. They kept walking towards the main camp, the pace slow and uneven. 

“My feet do hurt like hell though,” she muttered eventually, and Cullen once again felt a twinge of guilt at her words. Boots would've been much better. He gazed at her figure, watched as she leaned against her staff for support every step. Staring at her staff however, it slowly hit him - she was a _mage_. 

“Er, Mage Amell? I don't mean to pry but... you are a Creation mage, yes?"

She nodded vaguely. "Yes, you're correct. Why do you ask?"

"Can’t you use magic to heal yourself?” he asked eventually. "Your feet, I mean. They seem to be giving you pain."

Amell blinked at him, confusion written across her face.

“But… I’m not allowed to do healing magic outside of the healer’s wards.” The way she stated the sentence so simply and plainly made Cullen want to smack his head against the ground. She needn’t have suffered at all! To be so obedient, even miles away from any Circle? The entire trip here and she hadn't even tried to perform any magic. _And the Knight-Commander thought that sending me along with her was necessary for the safety of everyone one else..._ Cullen snorted lightly. Loud enough for Amell to have heard, because she gave him a bewildered look. Cullen flushed, hoping that she hadn't interpreted his amusement as laughter towards her, 

“Mage Amell…” he began, unsure of how to explain it to her without being rude. “We’re no longer in the Tower. Since you’re going to be a Grey Warden, I… I don’t think the rules of the Circle apply to you anymore. You’re a-allowed to do magic, as long as it’s not blood magic.”

She blinked again and stopped in her tracks.

There was a long pause. So long in fact, that Cullen begun to worry that he might’ve broken her with his explanation, but slowly, she bent down and removed her slippers. Her feet appeared, rubbed red and raw in some areas and blisters clearly forming in others. Cullen winced in sympathy. A soft blue glow surrounded her hands, and he watched as she lowered her them to her feet and moved them in slow circular motions. Before his eyes, blisters began fading and skin reforming themselves, until her feet looked as good as new.

A small groan escaped her lips as she wiggled her toes, undoubtedly enjoying not having to walk around with tattered feet anymore. Despite the innocence meaning behind the sound, Cullen felt his face burn and quickly turned away and gazed at the cliffs in the distance, reciting the Chant in his head. Only when he was certain of his own composure did he turn back towards Amell, who was now clutching her slippers delicately in one hand. She turned to him tentatively but avoided his gaze. 

“Thank you,” she said with ducked head, but Cullen can see the edges of her lips curled up in a smile. He felt a surge of happiness and he quickly attempted to quash.

“Y-you did all the work really, I only r-reminded you,” he replied with embarrassment. He cursed his own awkwardness as he heard the stutter return with renewed force.

"We should m-move into the camp quickly," he reminded her, and they set off again, this time at a much quicker pace, and a much more companionable silence between them. 

 

\---

 

Inside the camp was rather less than impressive as the view from afar. People rushed about with single minded purpose, and crates and equipment seemed to be stacked everywhere he turned. Towards their right, he could feel the tell-tale signs of magic humming through the air. It seemed like Amell could feel it too, because she picked up her pace and made a beeline for the enclosure.

“Wait,” Cullen called out and hurried after her. Regardless of how well behaved the mage was, he still had a task, and he needed to fulfill it. However, it seemed Amell had only eyes and ears for one person: another female mage stationed close to the entrance of the enclosure. Clad in soft red robes, the woman was perusing a scroll held in both her hands. 

“Wynne!” Amell cried happily and launched herself at an older woman whose white hair was drawn away from her face into a neat and tidy bun at the back of her head. The older mage turned her head in surprise, and clearly was befuddled by the girl suddenly in her arms. Cullen finally recognised her as one of the Senior Enchanters at the Circle. He had never spoken to her, but her reputation as the mother hen of the mages was spoken often about by other templars. 

"Solona? By the Maker, what are you doing here?"

"Oh Wynne, it was horrible. I have so much to tell you, and of course, you need to know the reason I'm here, but I'm just so happy to see you..."

Cullen silently moved away from the two mages, and stationed himself underneath one of the trees in the clearing - far enough so that he wouldn't overhear the conversation, but close enough to keep them in sight. He would've felt like an intruder if he had stayed tailing her during her conversation with someone who was clearly dear to her. Despite that, he was still a templar, and his duty was to keep guard. So he kept watch at a distance, and it was odd to see Amell so animated, talking to the Senior Enchanter with wild arm gestures and emotion written all across her face. He realised for all of the looks that they shared in the Tower and the years they've known each other, he knew very little about her beyond the superficial facts. He knew a lot about her mage training, that was true, but he didn't have a clue to the most basic things like her favourite colour. It certainly was a sobering thought. But he knew that it would've never be tolerated, forming a friendship with a mage.

 _And now the choice is once again out of my hands_ , he thought glumly. He will be heading back to the Tower, most likely tomorrow morning. He would return to his duties, and learn to put her and this ill-advised infatuation behind him. And she will be off, fighting a war against the darkspawn and travelling Ferelden. Something which she probably never would've imagined in all her years in the Circle.

He didn't know how long he stood there in the shade of the tree, keeping watch over the flame haired mage, but after a while, it was apparent that the Senior Enchanter was urging her on, as well as few of the older templars in the mage encampment. He watched as Amell hugged the older woman tightly, before turning and glancing around. He moved towards her, and inclined his head. She caught his gaze and seemed to relax slightly, no doubt comforted by a familiar face.

"I guess we should move on and find that Grey Warden that Duncan told us about," he said to her once she within earshot. "I think... his name was Alistair?"

Amell bit her lip and nodded stiffly, but said nothing. Cullen hid his disappointment at her lack of speech towards him. after seeing such animated display, it stung a little to know that he will never be on the receiving end of such enthusiasm and warmth. Nonetheless, it cannot be helped. This is for your own good, Cullen berated himself as he gestured towards the ramp leading out to a broken temple at the back of the area. They moved silently across the camp, skirting around people rushing about, looking for another Grey Warden. It wasn't long before the came across two men, one a mage and another decked out in armor with a shield and a sword strapped to his back. Some sort of argument was clearly taking place, and the mage stormed off soon enough. The other man merely chuckled at the retreating figure, Spying the two companions standing before the ramp, he grinned and sauntered over. Cullen gazed at him with hesitation. He couldn't have been any older than he was, and he looked too carefree considering the situation and the place they were in.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," he said cheerfully, raking a hand through a mess of blonde hair. Amell moved slightly behind Cullen, who blinked at the statement.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, unsure of what the other man was saying. Amell seemed to be content to simply try and fade away. The other man just flapped a hand as if to say 'don't worry about it', before gazing at them suspiciously.

"Wait a minute...", he squinted at them, rubbing his chin. "We haven't met have we? I don't suppose you're a mage, what with the huge templar insignia blazoned across your chest." Here he stopped and gazed at him thoughtfully.

"You know, I was training to be a templar before I was recruited. Wow, imagine me in that armor..." he trailed off, a dreamy look appearing on his face. Cullen had no idea what to make of the man standing in front of him. And did he mention something about being recruited? Surely not?

"Are you the Grey Warden Alistair?"

"I am indeed! And let me guess. The new recruit? Ah, of course! Should of recognized you right away! Duncan did say that there'd be two of your travelling with him."

"This is Mage Amell," Cullen stepped aside and pushed Amell forward. Alistair smiled cheerily at her, seemingly unfazed by the slip of a girl standing in front of him.

"You know... it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?" His question was met with silence, and to his credit the man continued without battering an eyelid. "Well, you know what? Too many men in the Grey Wardens, that's what I always say," he winked at the girl. Amell blushed and stared down at the ground, resolutely mute. Cullen frowned slightly at the gesture and clenched his fist.

"Anyway," Alistair continued on, oblivious to the other man's glare, "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining. We should get going, Duncan's probably waiting for us... And um, sorry, didn't quite get your name?"

"It's Cullen," Cullen replied with a rather stony expression.

"Ah yes, well... Templar Cullen, allow me to take your charge off your hands. I'm assuming you would like a good night's rest? If you go find the quartermaster, I'm sure he can find a spare tent for you around the camp. Meanwhile," here Alistair turned to Amell again, "I'm be taking you to prepare. We should hurry, there's not much time left."

With that Alistair turned and headed back down towards the main camp area, gesturing for Amell to follow. Cullen scowled and turned back to the mage as his side, her knuckles white as she gripped her staff. Amell looked at him uncertainly, and then at the retreating figure of the other Grey Warden.

"Cullen, I'm scared," she whispered softly, her green eyes filled with trepidation. Cullen felt his heart ache a little at her confession. Of course she would be. A spirit mage who has known nothing but the grey stone walls of the tower, and now being thrown to the wolves to learn how to be a Grey Warden. And now to some secret joining or another...

 _Why should you care?_  the proper part of his mind argued.  _By all rights, what happens to this mage is none of your concern after this!_ But that was the problem. He did care, and he loathed to leave her in the care of some happy-go-lucky ex-templar. Still, he had little choice it seemed, and the sooner he bid his own farewells, the sooner he can return home and forget all about this.

"It's going to be all right," he said softly, placing a gauntlet covered hand on her shoulder gently. She didn't move away at the gesture, but instead grabbed onto his hand, and squeezed.

"All right," she whispered and slowly released him. "I guess... this is goodbye."

"I guess so," Cullen replied, trying to ignore the pangs of sadness that filled him at this statement.

"Thank you for coming with me Cullen. And... thank you. For being kind."

With that, she turned and moved away quickly, hurrying after the other man with a determined look on her face. Cullen stood still for a few moments longer, staring at her red hair flowing behind her and her figure growing smaller and smaller until she turned a corner, and was gone.

 

 


	5. Tower of Ishal

It didn't take him long to find the Quartermaster, and find himself an empty tent at the edge of the camp. Cullen was thankful that not many people walked by his part of the camp; he figured that he'll finally get a good night's rest before setting off tomorrow morning. The tent was spacious, leaving Cullen plenty of room to unroll the bedspread they had provided for him. He ducked outside and stopped an elf and requested for a bath, and soon enough he found himself soaking off a week’s worth of dust and grime from the road in blissfully hot water.

It certainly would feel good to be back at the Circle again, he mused as he lazed in the tub, watching the steam rise up from the water in swirls. He knew where he stood there, with the others. And perhaps it will do him good, to be back there without Amell constantly around. Maybe it was finally time to put aside this ridiculous infatuation. At least, that was what he told himself. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of ritual she needed to go through to become a Grey Warden. His mind kept supplying images of blood oaths and tests of endurance and other equally unpleasant scenarios.

But there’s hardly any point in worrying now. He won’t see her again that was certain. His good mood suddenly faded and he found himself wishing again that he had taken more time to talk to her on the way here. But between his orders and the fact that he knew that it would never amount to anything stopped him, and now his chance was gone forever. 

After he had soaked for what felt like hours, he finally stepped out of the tub. He was still dwelling on this thought, even as he dried himself off and slid into the bedroll that they had provided for him. A decent sleep before he set out again would probably do him some good. The soft padded bedroll was a welcome comfort against his skin, and soon he found himself drifting off. 

 

\---

 

He woke to cries and yells outside his tent, and the faint roar of a battle. Any drowsiness he had felt was gone immediately as he pushed himself out of the blankets and glanced around in high alert. What time was it? How long had he been asleep? He looked around the tent and grabbed his breeches, and with as much speed as he could muster at that moment he donned them. Grabbing his sword in one hand, he pushed aside the tent flap.

Chaos greeted him as elves dashed around, shouting at each other and grabbing random assortments of weapons. Priestesses and Healers were gathered to his left, madly calling for potions and bandages. The rest of the camp seemed devoid of all soldiers, and Cullen felt a pang of worry settle in his gut. For some reason, the only thought that came to his mind was ' _Amell_ '. He walked out of his tent quickly, determined to find out what exactly was going on, and immediately collided with a slender female elf. She rebounded off him with a slight 'offt', and dropped the arm full of linen she was carrying. 

"Hey, hey, slow down!" he said in annoyance. The elf straightened herself and bowed to him quickly, before scrabbling to re-gather the material that had fallen onto the ground.

"Sorry sir! Yes, sir? What, what is it, sir?" the elf squeaked, her gaze was darting about frantically around the camp, looking as if she had a mad desire to dash off again as soon as he permitted her. He frowned down at her, before brushing it aside. There’s no point worrying about manners now, he supposed.

"Can you tell me what's going on? Where is everyone?" _Where is Amell?_ was what he really wanted to ask, but he had a feeling that no one would know who he was talking about. But where would she be? His mind latched onto the annoying face of the ex-templar-turned-Grey-Warden. _Of course._

“The darkspawn have attacked, sir! The King is leading the charge, that’s all I know! I need to deliver these–”

“And the Grey Wardens?” he demanded, not caring if he was frightening the poor girl. The elf merely shook her head, backing away slowly from the intimidating figure in front of her.

“All I know is that they are at some tower, sir, that’s all I know!”

With that she scurried off without a backward glance.

Cullen growled in annoyance and raked a hand through his unkempt hair, watching the elf's path. The darkspawn had to attack, tonight of all nights. Of course they did. Just his luck. And on top of that, It seemed that his little tent had been forgotten in the mad scramble, and no one had thought to come and wake him. He cursed and ducked back into the tent, and immediately began pulling his armour on in a frenzy. There was no way he could return to the Circle now, not with the darkspawn herd outside of Ostagar. But he could do one thing. He had to find Amell. He had no way of knowing if she was okay and he needed to know. The elf had mentioned some tower, and there was only one that he had seen still standing as they approached the fortress. He quickly checked that everything was ready, and grabbed his weapon and shield. He had a feeling that it was going to take a lot of effort to get to that tower. 

 

\---

The last straggling darkspawn fell in a shower of dark blood and Cullen grimaced, shaking the excess blood and other bits of the monster off his sword. He stared down at the dead body, taking a moment to catch his breath and rest his shield arm. He had only seen drawings of the creatures in the Circle library before this, and the things were far more grotesque in reality. It's face that looked like a human who had come out of the worst of a horrible disease, skin peeling and resembling scales. The skin was pulled back away taunt from its mouth, showing teeth that in various stages of decay. The combination itself was gruesome enough, but perhaps the most unsettling thing about these things were the fact that they were almost human looking. Not entirely, of course, but just enough to make his skin crawl. 

With a small shudder he turned away from the dead body and stared up at the tower. The structure loomed above him,  He could hear fighting inside, and he prayed to the Maker that he didn't come here for nothing. _Amell, I'm coming,_ he thought as he dashed through the large doors. He met little resistance on the first two floors, with dead darkspawn littering the place. It seemed that they were capable at least, whoever was fighting through the tower. It eased his mind slightly, knowing that at least she would be protected until he arrived. 

He found them on the third floor, surrounded by a mod of darkspawn. He spied the warden - Alistiar, was it? -  at the front of the group, and two other men behind him attacking the creatures. Amell was standing a few feet back, casting glyphs and other spells rapidly, her eyes shining with fear. He charged forward and swung his sword at the nearest darkspawn with renewed gusto, feeling his sword bite into the creature's skin. It roared in pain and staggered back, arms flailing wildly. Before it had time to recover, Cullen surged forward and struck its face with his hilt, hearing the satisfying crunch of something breaking. One more swing and the head fell onto the floor, landing with a slight squelch.   

He heard a gasp and a soft voice exclaiming "Cullen!" but there were still more darkspawn. It took more than a few swings before he finally took a breath, glancing at the scattered bodies of the foul creatures lying around on the floor. The smell was horrid to say the least, and he hoped that they weren't going to stay there for much longer. 

"Cullen, what are you doing here?" Amell's soft voice came with a slight pressure on his arm. He glanced down at her hand rested against his bracers and tried to prevent the blush that he knew was staining his cheeks. 

"I... couldn't leave for the Circle," he murmured, gazing down at her flushed face. "The darkspawn were already here and, I thought... I was told that the Grey Wardens were here, so I thought you could use my help..."

She smiled then, a slightly weary but relieved smile, and Cullen couldn't help but savour the fact that it was for him and him alone. A small cough drew his attention to the other three men, notably Alistair, who was standing there with a grin that made Cullen want to violently smack off his face. 

"Well then, this is a surprise," Alistair drawled, and sheathed his sword. "Coming along for the ride, templar?" 

"Cullen, we need to hurry," Amell ignored the comment and tugged on his arm with a panicked expression on her face. "We need to light the beacon for Teryn Loghain's forces, we're already late! The army is getting slaughtered out there!"

Cullen nodded silently. He knew that he had to protect her, and there was no way he was letting her out of his sight now. 

"Well, If you're coming templar, then you better keep up." Alistair stated with a slight mocking smile and turned and jogged towards the stairs. The others trailed behind, and Amell gave him another small smile before jogging after them.

Cullen frowned, but followed Amell. He was already here. Might as well finish it. 

 


	6. The Witch of the Wilds

The stairs spiraling upwards seemed endless to Cullen as the group made their way hurriedly towards the top. One of the guards filled him in on what was happening, and Cullen couldn’t shake off the sense of dread that seemed to creep up on him the closer they got to the beacon room. They had killed countless darkspawn already, and more seemed to appear every few steps they take, and he was pretty sure they were already late lighting the signal.  

More than anything, Cullen couldn’t help fretting over the slip of a mage next to him. Every single darkspawn was a danger to her – robes were hardly going to protect her from a sword swing. More often than not he found himself pushing her behind him as darkspawn charged at them, feeling the prickle on the back of his neck as she cast glyphs around them. It was an odd feeling, having to remind himself not to cast smite on instinct. He wasn’t used to having magic cast on him outside of the healer’s ward. It felt… nice, in a way, to be working side by side with Amell. The glyphs and spells she was casting clearly were doing their work, and Cullen couldn’t help but wonder if mages were allowed to fight alongside soldiers in battle, maybe the fighting would be easier.

After what seemed like eons, they finally reached the top floor, panting from the exertion. They sprinted through the large doors, ready to light the beacon, and were greeted with a grotesque sight. The hulking figure of a blight-ridden ogre crouched over a dead body that had been torn to pieces was a sight that made even Cullen mildly sick. Still, it seemed preoccupied with its current meal, which was lucky for them.

“Okay, this complicates things,” Alistair muttered softly, his eyes darting around the room as the group stood silently in the doorway. The creature was sitting right in front of the bonfire which they were supposed to light, which meant they had to lure it away somehow. Alistair turned to Amell jerked his head towards the pyre.

“Can we count on you to light the signal? Maybe do a few tricks with that magic of yours?” he asked softly. Amell blinked and looked fearfully at the ogre and back at the other warden.

“I…I know a few primal spells, but I’m not so good with fire…” she stuttered. Alistair gave her a smile, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Cullen twitched. 

“You can do it,” he said with confidence, practically beaming at the mage. After a moment, Amell nodded, though hesitation still filled her eyes. Cullen fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course she could do it. As if there was any doubt. Still, the other warden didn't know her, not like him. Not that it matters, especially now.

Alistair quickly gave a few instructions to the rest of then, and Cullen tightened the strap on his shield as he hefted it higher. Alistair gave them all a quick nod, gave his own sword a couple of swings, and then turned towards the darkspawn. 

“Hey, ugly!” the other man yelled as he rushed forward, banging his sword loudly against his shield. “Over here!”

Cullen felt Amell’s hand clutch at his arm in alarm as the ogre lifted its head, pausing in its meal. The creature turned its beady eyes towards the sound, and gave an ear shattering roar as it saw the warden. It flung the limb it was chewing on away and lumbered towards the man, blood and spit dripping from its mouth.

"Go," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, and gave Amell a little shove in the other direction.  Not pausing to look back, Cullen immediately ran towards the creature’s backside, banging his shield as well. It raised its head again, confused as it turned its gaze towards him this time. The two guards also rushed forward, each trying to create as much noise as possible. It seemed to work as the ogre began jerking its head in confusion, unable to decide which target to attack. It swung its arms wildly, grunting in anger. 

Out of the corner of his eye Cullen saw Amell edging towards the pyre, a small flame flickering in the palm of her hand. It seemed that the ogre was well occupied with the four men, leaving her a free route to the signal. He ducked another swing from the massive arms, and leaped forward with his sword. The weapon found its mark, drawing a long gash down the creature's limb. It roared in pain and took a step towards Cullen, its eyes fixed on him. 

He turned his head to glance at Amell, and saw that she had managed to coax the small flame into a large fire. The flames were growing bigger by the second, and he saw Amell raise her head with huge smile on her face. He was distracted enough not to notice that the ogre had moved closer towards him, and he looked back just in time to see a huge arm moving towards him. He tried to roll, but by then it was too late. The limb collided with his chest, and Cullen was immediately flung off his feet. He landed with a sickening crunch against the wall, and slid down in a boneless heap, his vision almost black from the excruciating pain. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the stars from his vision. Through the haze of pain, he watched helplessly as the ogre lifted one of the soldiers in its huge hands and bit down on the man with a sickening crunch.

_Oh Maker._

He coughed as he tried to push himself back onto his feet, heaving and rasping coughs that made his lungs rattle and ache, but the pain made him stop. Through the smoke, he could barely make out the slender robe clad figure backing away slowly from the ogre. He could almost imagine the fear in her eyes – the same look that she wore, perhaps, the night of her harrowing? He had wanted to reach out then, and ease her fright, but of course that was impossible. And even now, without the confinements of the Tower surrounding them, he was still helpless.

He _needed_ to help. Where was his sword? He glanced around blearily, and saw it a lying a few metres to his left. Groaning, he slowly stretched out his arm as far as he could to the handle, but stopped immediately as he nearly blacked out from the pain. Shattered ribs, the thought crossed his mind dimly. His vision was becoming darker now, and he helplessly watched as Amell desperately fired a huge blast of ice towards the ogre. For once, something seemed to work, and the lumbering creature stopped in its tracks, its huge clawed feet encased in solid ice. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Alistair, sword gleaming in his hand, leaping up and plunging his weapon straight into the base of the ogre’s neck. An unearthly screech erupted from the creature as blood cascaded down from the now gaping wound. He felt a surge of triumph, only immediately replaced by fear when he saw more darkspawn spilling through the door.

We’re going to die here, he realised as he watched the other man tackle the swarm head on. He prayed to the Maker that their efforts had not been in vain, and the Teryn had seen the signal.

His vision blurred and darkened, and through the foggy blackness he heard a voice yelling his name. He tried to push himself up, tried to reply, but his head felt like lead, sinking in water. As he blacked out Cullen’s only thought was on the mage on the other side of the room rushing towards him, her eyes gleaming in the firelight, so bright...

 

 

-

 

It was the dull pounding in his head that finally woke him, and the first thought that came to mind was confusion and panic. _Where am I?_ Cullen looked around blearily, noting the drab covers of the bed that he was lying in and the dark silhouettes of items scattered around what seemed like a small cottage. _How did I get here?_ He pushed himself up from the bed with some difficulty, wincing as his ribs ached in protest, and noted that someone had taken the liberty of stripping him of his armour. He immediately tensed, eyes darting around for his sword. 

He finally spied it leaning against the far wall, along with his armour. He gave a small sigh of relief. It seemed that whoever it was did not seem to want to harm him. Now to a more pressing matter. Where was Amell? The last thing he could remember was the battle with the darkspawn in the tower. Before his train of thought could go any further the door to the cottage creaked open, letting in the light from the afternoon sun. Cullen squinted at that figure that was silhouetted against the doorway. 

"Well well," came a long drawl as the figure sauntered into the room, smirking at him. "Finally awake I see?" 

It was a woman, and perhaps the most scantily clad one that Cullen had ever laid eyes on. She was dressed in the most bizarre way, her top barely more than a thin strip of cloth covering her more private areas and topped off with some rather ridiculous looking feathers. In truth, Cullen would've immediately averted his eyes if not for the staff she had strapped to her back that spoke of who, or rather _what_ , she was. 

"Apostate," he growled. The woman just rolled her eyes.

"Yes yes, an apostate who just so happened to save your life. A little gratitude goes a long way, _templar_ , since I was entirely willing to leave you behind."

She moved forward towards him, and Cullen immediately tensed again, his instincts telling him to get as far away from her as possible. 

"Stay back," he gritted out as he tried to heave himself out of the bed. The dull pain that he had felt before in his chest flared up at the movement, leaving him panting and slumped against the bed. His gaze flickered towards his sword still propped up against the wall. Perhaps, if he was fast, he would be able to grab it before the apostate did anything to him.  

"Or what?" she scoffed, looming over him. "You have broken several of your ribs, not to mention that you are currently as weak as a baby. Now stop moving so I can take a look at you."

Only then did Cullen realise that she was in fact carrying bandages and a few potions in her arms. He hesitated, but eventually relented. The apostate was right about one thing - he was incredibly weak right now. There wasn't much he could do in terms of fighting her, and she seemed to at least be helping him, if albeit rather grudgingly. He refused to apologise, but he stayed still, enough for the woman to replace the gauze around his chest. The potion that she handed him however, did not go anywhere near his mouth. The woman rolled her eyes again. 

"Perhaps one of your companions can convince you," she said dryly before turning and walking out of the cottage. Cullen barely had time to breathe before a mass of flame red hair peeked into the cottage. He'll worry about the wild apostate some other time. 

"Cullen! You're awake!" Amell exclaimed as she rushed towards him, a smile across her face. Cullen flushed this time, pulling the covers over his chest. It felt a little strange, to be half naked in front of Amell, but the girl didn't even seem to notice. She sat down on the bed next to him and placed a hand over his.  

"I'm so glad you're okay," she smiled at him again, her blue eyes looking livelier than ever. Cullen couldn't remember the last time that she had smiled so much in his presence. It was a change he rather liked.

"What happened?" he asked when he remembered his voice, still trying to recall how they had gotten to this particular cottage. He had a million other questions on his mind, but this one seemed to him to be the most important. At his question, Amell's smile slipped away, and a grim look stole over her features. She hesitated,  plucking at a loose thread on the cover with her left hand. 

"There's no easy way to say this, and there's so much I need to tell you... I don't think you're going to like it..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i'm not so good at writing action scenes, so if this sucks i'm so sorry. also i'm so sorry for the delay between the chapters, this has been sitting in my drafts for so long. it's hard sometimes to find motivation to write but i'm trying! thank you so much for all the kind comments, it gave me the needed push to finish this off.)


	7. Lothering

It's been a few days since they left the little cottage in the wilds, and Cullen couldn't be more glad to be on the road again. Flemeth, or so she said she was called, gave him a feeling that disturbed him. She had magic, that he could definitely tell, but there was something about her that set his teeth on edge. It was good to leave there, however bleak the trip looked. Alistair, who was normally so cheerful and outgoing, had sunk into a depressed state so deep that only Amell could really get anything more than a sentence out of him. Morrigan, as he learnt was her name, was every bit the annoying apostate that Cullen feared she would be. He wasn't sure who hated her more - himself, or Alistair. The other man seldom spoke a word to the witch, and if he did it was laced with annoyance and sarcasm. Cullen himself wasn't in a fantastic mood either, to say the least. The battle at Ostagar had cost them dearly, and it seemed that Loghain's forces had abandoned them. The beacon had been lit for nothing, and the king and Duncan died in a futile attempt to push back the darkspwan. His ribs still ached, but the magic had helped it along rapidly, so he for that he was thankful.

It was hard to believe that a week ago his life was dull and normal, living in the tower and exchanging shifts with his fellow templars as to who got to guard which floor. It felt right at least, travelling with Amell on what seemed to be an impossible journey, but there was no other way of heading back to the tower unless he wished to travel alone. The thought was particularly unpleasant considering the horde had already moved faster than anyone could have imagined. It was safer to travel in a group, and any group with Amell was enough to persuade him. It probably also helped that they managed to pick up a mabari along the way. Cullen had always liked the hounds, they were something of a childhood wish back when he used to live in Honnleath. The creature now travels with them, leaving Amell to affectionately dub the poor thing 'Dog'. Well, he couldn't really blame her on a lack of imagination. It wasn't like the tower had any pets that they could keep. 

Amell herself had certainly changed since she left the tower. She spoke far more now, often striking up conversations with him and walking alongside him. The witch would always raise an eyebrow at him, but stay silent despite the infuriating smirk on her face, and Alistair... well, he wasn't speaking much at all so he mostly ignored them. Despite the tension in the group, between the five of them travelling was much easier than before. The supplies that Flemeth gave them were useful, and camp was set up and pulled down at a much more efficient rate than when he was travelling with Amell and Duncan. 

It was the dawn of the fourth day when they finally spied a small village in the distance, and Amell was the first to let out a small cry of happiness. 

"Look, a village!" she all but practically squealed. Cullen couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "I wonder what it's like? Oh I've read about them so many times but I've never imagined that I'd see one in person! I heard the people in villages are all lovely and friendly, do you think that's true?"

A snort from Morrigan interrupted the young mage's excitement. "Hardly. I'd be prepared for disappointment if I were you," the woman drawled as she looked towards the cottages in the distance. Alistair remained silent, his face glum as he kept moving. Cullen silently agreed with the witch, but it felt horrible to see Amell's crestfallen face. So instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a small smile.

"I... used to live in a village not too far from here," he began hesitantly. "It was quite lovely. We, um, had a large stone statue which everyone would decorate during festivals. I used to feed the birds that gathered around there with my siblings. If we pass it on our way... you er, can come meet them. I'm sure my sister would like that." At this, Amell's face lit up again. She clasped her hands together and giggled, her smiling beaming up at him. 

"That sounds wonderful Cullen!" she exclaimed, and Cullen blushed as she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He really needed to stop doing that, the whole blushing business. He was still a templar after all, and Amell was still a mage, despite her being a Grey Warden now. He really shouldn't be encouraging his... attachment. When they return to the tower, that's when he'll have to leave her. The thought immediately soured his mood, but as he watched Amell skip off ahead with Dog trailing after her, he couldn't help but be thankful for this time that they do have together.

"Need a handkerchief to wipe that drool off your face?" The witch smirked as she walked passed him. Cullen scowled and bit back a retort. He shouldn't let her get to him. Apostate or not, that Morrigan was certainly annoying. 

  

-

 

They managed to find a room at the inn for the night, despite how cramped the rest of the village was. Refugees were swarming the streets, and the camp area which held most of them was filled to the brim with families and carts and tents. After a rather heated discussion between Alistair and Morrigan with Amell trying to keep them calm, they managed to decide that they should go to Arl Eamon for help first. The village of Redcliffe was on the opposite shores of Lake Calenhad, which meant it was the quickest way for Cullen to return to the tower. Not for the first time Cullen thought that the two wardens in their midst had an impossible task ahead of them. The biggest comfort was the Chantry, sitting in the center of the village. Despite the chaos around them, the Chantry was still quiet and peaceful enough, and Cullen found himself wandering inside behind Amell while Morrigan, Alistair and Dog went to purchase more supplies for the road. Amell seemed to take as much comfort from the place as he did, immediately moving forward to pray at the altar. Cullen followed suit, muttering a chant as he sat down next to her. They were quiet for a bit, both just sitting for the first time in what felt like years. He looked over to see Amell staring at the statue of Andraste, her face relaxed and serene.

"You know, I used to think that the Circle was the safest place in the world," she whispered her eyes moving down to her hands. "That's what they said... 'Magic is not safe, and the Circle will protect you'. But now I'm out here, and I'm in a village, and you're here with me and it just feels... so right, you know? Seeing the sky, feeling the wind, getting blisters on my feet from walking..." she giggled softly, shaking her head. "There's no worry that I'm going to fail my Harrowing, or that a templar might catch me doing something wrong and make me Tranquil..."

Cullen winced at her words but stayed silent, unsure of what to say. He became a templar because he thought they were honorable, and that they were doing something right by guarding the mages. But hearing Amell voice the things that he didn't want to think about... It felt wrong somehow, wearing this armour around her. 

"I'm... sorry," he whispered back. Amell blinked at him in confusion, before placing a hand over her mouth.

"Oh no, I didn't mean you Cullen!" she whispered, looking mortified. "You're... different. You've always been nice to me... I mean, us mages, you're kind, you don't scare me like others..." she trailed off and stared at her shoes, pink rising in her cheeks. Cullen could feel his own face begin to match hers, and tried to calm himself. Could it be possible that...? No, no. It can't be. She just said that he was less scary than other templars, but that was it. But did he dare hope that she might return his feelings? They sat together mutely, neither willing to break the silence that had formed between them. But inside, Cullen's heart was threatening to burst out of his chest. He turned his head and hesitated, but before he had a chance to say anything, the Chantry doors burst open with a loud clang against the wall.

"Where is the Grey Warden?" a voice snarled, and Amell immediately froze in her seat. Cullen slowly turned his head towards the entrance, and watched as a group of rough looking men filed into the hall. This wasn't good. He gripped the hilt of his sword as he kept his face blank, watching as a few of the templars moved in to intercept the men. He had to think of a way to get Amell out of here without drawing their attention. He could only hope that the other templars can buy them some time. He needed to think of a plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so um, i think i really need a beta reader or something but please forgive the lateness and the mistakes in this chapter and i hope you liked it!)


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